


Mitch McConnell x Reader Lemon

by The_Shame_Basement



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c., The United States Senate
Genre: Clothed Sex, Creampie, Large Cock, Multi, Office Sex, One Punch Pam, Republican, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 15:56:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18626464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Shame_Basement/pseuds/The_Shame_Basement
Summary: You've made your way to Kentucky for one thing, and you won't stop until you get it.





	Mitch McConnell x Reader Lemon

You came to Kentucky with one mission, and one mission only– and that mission was to get your holes wrecked by the only man who does it for you, Senator Addison Mitchell McConnell Jr. You walk into his office, shyly knocking on the doorframe, but you shouldn’t have bothered. McConnell looks up as soon as you walk through the doorway, and puts down his Pokemon FireRed or whatever the hell it is he does. Within moments, his sweaty little loafer-clad feet are shuffling across the carpet towards you, fast enough you get a static shock when his broad, turgid chest presses up against yours. You gasp, and he presses a finger to your lips. His hand and wrist joints crackle like a bonfire– just like the bonfire he ignites in your heart, and in your applicable orfices.  
Within moments, the place where his lips should be is pressed up against your mouth, and you feel like you’re being tongue-bathed by a turtle made entirely of skin. It makes you whimper, and you try to reach downwards to cop a feel of that top-grade Kentucky-fried dickmeat, but his hand catches yours before you can make it there. He presses an attempt at a kiss to your jaw, wheezing a little in your ear as he tries to catch his breath from the short jog across his office.  
“No can do, shweetheart. You’re gonna hafta give me shome of what I want firsht.”  
What? You frown, confusion marring your face. His droopy mouth-flaps stretch into a grin.  
“Lemme shee that _shucculent assh.”_  
You turn around obediently and tug your pants down, and Mitch makes sort of a gurgling noise, which you assume is a good thing. Before you know it, his weird little hand comes down hard against your skin, and you squeak as he gropes over the rising flushed mark he’s made. _“You look sho good in Republican red, darlin’,”_ he breathes in your ear. He doesn’t give you time to reply before he takes you by the hips and presses his old man weiner against your butt, and you bite your lip and whisper “Addison…”, trying to coax him into going further.  
He obliges you. The sound of fabric shifting fills the air as he starts to untuck his shirt, then changes his mind and starts trying to unbutton his pants. Several seconds pass. You ask if he needs help, but he shakes his head vigorously (which makes a _blrbblblrbrb_ sound as his jowls slap together) and keeps trying. Eventually he manages to get his dick out, and you arch your back invitingly. He pushes right in, and you groan as you’re filled with hot, red-blooded conservative pork sausage. It’s almost too much– there’s clearly a reason why the Republican mascot is an elephant.  
  
“Oh, _Mitch!”_ you cry, voice high and breathy as he rails you. It’s so nondescript it makes your knees tremble. The man does not know how to wield a dick at all– and that’s just how you like it. His creaky body tenses and relaxes behind you as he thrusts. He looks like a grandpa doing the Macerena.  
Before long, you find yourself reaching a mediocre orgasm; Mitch follows suit about a minute later. It takes longer for the sensations to travel to his brain, what with all the excess skin in the way. You sigh as you feel his creamy seed drip down your thighs.  
  
You’ve gotten what you came for. You step away, pulling up your pants, and turn around just in time to see Senator Mitch McConnell being vaporized into a fine red mist with a single punch from a woman with a pockmarked face and an incredibly cool fur-collared dress. She gives you a wide grin, wiping off her hand on her skirt.  
_“Funny little man. Even funnier now that his atoms are disassembled. Not so pro-life now. Ha ha. I tell little joke.”_  
Then she clips through the ceiling and disappears, and you sit down at the desk to take your rightful place as Kentucky’s senator.


End file.
